F YOUK! Is what a shirt that I bought outside Yankee Stadium says. If you don't know what that means you probably have never been cussed or have never cussed anyone. And, on a secondary level, you apparently don't understand the Boston Red Sox v. Yankees rivalry. Kevin Youklis is the catcher for the Red Sox. Fuck is a cuss word. Y O U is yourself. Put it together. Get it? The shirt is a ringer T, so to speak, white with a red collar and red cuffs. Pretty tasty. It's written in gothic kind of writing to class up the innuendo of the whole scenario as if the F-Bomb could be classed up. I guess that's why they went with a ringer T as opposed to just a normal T cause that wouldn't have done it justice.
The Bronx is a fucking hell whole. Rougher than your butt whole after eating brillo covered corn. There are bags of trash piled up on the side of the street. There was a brand new tire on the sidewalk near our hotel. Sure, it was like a new spare tire for LeCar, but it was a new tire nonetheless. They had a store in one of the neighborhood's we walked through going to the Stadium called "Kennedy's Fried Chicken and Pizza". Who do you think that was a rip off of? I was surprised the goateed's one's peep's hadn't been down to this joint and sprayed a fucking restraining order on the front of his metal protector things. It was even a pink color and was similar to the Colonel in style. If the motherfucker had boneless slice of pizza I would have felt a need to turn the son of a bitch in myself as a Kentuckian but, alas, it was 9:30 a.m. and there was a 1:00 p.m start and I needed a beer and I had a couple of more blocks to walk.
We're staying a place a mile from Yankee Stadium and the cab ride back the first night was $30 bucks. No shit. How ridiculous. The guy running our hotel told us it was safe to walk during the day but not at night. We walked the first day. Cabbed the night back. The Yankees lost that night. Second night the Yankees lost. Got their ass kicked. As we were leaving, the first cabbie we approached offered us a ride for $50. We politely told him to kiss our ass. The second cabbie acted like he had never heard of the Howard Johnson Inn @ Yankee Stadium, which would be akin to saying you had never heard of the that big shitty hotel they will never start renovating for the quilt fest in Paducah. While he stuttered around and acted like he had never heard of the joint to come up with an astronomical price to quote us, we walked off and decided - in our anger over seeing our team get their ass kicked again for the second consecutive night - to brave the gauntlet and to walk back to our prison like hotel . My dad and I quickly came up with a system. If anyone approached us, we would ask no questions, we would simply kick their fucking ass. It was his 60th birthday and we were going to put everything the Nuns taught him during his Catholic School beatings to use.
We walked past the new Yankee Stadium and down the incredibly broken up sidewalk and past the projects. Projects doesn't really seem like the right word because it seems like a word describing where families alllegedly live should give some kind of hope and, if you could see these places, you would say the only things they projected was fear and poverty. I swear they should have had an endless track of Pelvis' song In The Ghetto playing in the Bronx. At the very leasty they should have had Cartman from Southpark singing it. Whoever wrote that song must have been talking about that fucking joint. I mean, that place was so poor, I could see people playing poker with Spam up in that motherfucker. Anyway, we passed a closed Chinese restaraunt that I do have a picture of called Dong King. No shit. The first day I saw it, I thought it was something owned by the big, finger-in-the-socket-do-having-boxing promoter guy. But no. It's a closed down Chinese food joint that seemingly would have attracted a lot of size queens. Werd.
Back to us walking through the Valley of Darkness. There were several encounters with people that looked at us funny but they pretty much just let us pass. Some of them said "Fuck the Yankees". We never had to bow up. We stopped in a convenient store. It was actually a Quick Market but it was convenient to us. We bought some 24 ounce swills in bottles to drink when we got back to our prison and for protection. As my dad said, "If you ginged someone in the coconut with a 24, you get the double pleasure of seeing them hit the ground and still getting to drink the beer. Always carry an opener." Adrenaline and a taste for the drink are quite a powerful thing when combined in more than moderation. When you run through the jungle, run with more than two 24's as we always say.
As dangerous as it is here, there is a fucking police station right next to our hotel! No shit! The BXTF is right next door! When I saw BXTF I expected fucking Aquaman to show up or someone on a fancy bike to jump a ramp and do a flip or something and give me a ticket for not putting my hair gel in a goddman ziplock bag. BXTF sounds impressive. Cops are everywhere near Yankee Stadium. Sure, the hog presence is kewl but you still definitely feel that just outside in this general vinicinity lurks some unruliness that could be untamed into your ass being finagled at any minute if you were put in the wong sityashun if you weren't careful, i.e. drank to many swills at the game and did not keep your shit together.
Mixed drinks cost $10.50 at Yankee Stadium. Is there some kind of liquor tax in NY that I'm unaware of? Did some Indians throw whiskey into the fucking Hudson river that the federal government is still trying to tax us back for? How in the hell does a drink go from $2.75 to $10.50 from KY to NY? I mean I realize there is a lot of real estate between there and hear (remember I'm writing hear, not there [there meaning KY] ) but how in the wholly hell can there be that big of a fucking difference in the price of a goddamn gurgle burger between the lines? You know the government is so worried about the price of health care, minimum wage laws, social security and the war in Iraq when they should be looking at the price of swill in New York. Fuck the price of gas. Look at how much a drinks costs up in this trailer! I want a Senate Commission with Ted Kenneday appointed. I bet that fewl will be all about investigating some of this shit. He'll be hands on as a motherfucker. There will be a bunch of "fact finding" "on sight" inspections into many of the city's watering holes to see why such inflated prices are being inflicted on "interstate commerce participants". You could almost afford to drive from NYC to Paducah for the difference in the price of gas. Fat Moe's should maybe start to advertise in the the New York Times. Just an idea.
Barak is giving a purty good speech write now. You know what is funny about him? One of the criticisms about him is that he is too eloquent. How in the wholly fuck can you be too eloquent? Can you explain something too well? Can you understand something too well? For instance, can you write too much of a right answer on an essay exam? I mean that is one of that dumbest fucking things - much less a criticism of someone I've ever fucking heard. That's like saying he's too smart or his dick is too big. Yeah, those are both problems any man wouldn't want to have. The Republican Party is fucking stretching to come up with some way to come up with something to say about Obama other than calling him the N word. That's the fucking truth. They can't do it. That son of a bitch is smart. He's intelligent. He has good idea's. He's the political Pepsi to their Coke and he has them freaked out and George W's eight years of mis Q's have set him up for a victory.
HOWEVER, Angry Johnny McCain and galactically rich beer distributing wife is making up ground. He is in a dead heat with BO. It's BO v. JM. We've got to stop the rich honkey without the clue as to how many houses he owns (see recent response to question from the media) from continuing this hell we've endured since the end of the tenure of the end of the fat blow job getting cat from Arkansas from winning the election.
Let's get something else out in the open. Who gives a fuck that John McCain is a war hero! I mean, I do in terms of what he did for the country because he deserves praise for that and we, as a country should always be grateful, but that does not mean he should be president. He won medals for that shit. He gets a fucking pension. He was paid and continues to get paid for that. He is an American hero. No doubt about that. Custer was a great American. That didn't mean he should have been President. It is this simple. If you want another 4 years of GWB vote for John McCain. If you want our equivalent of Custer to be President, vote forMcCain.
......I'm just sayin'........
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Things we've learnt in the Big City
The Hojo Inn @ Yankee Stadium just looks likes a maximum security prison on the outside but on the inside it is quite minimum security friendly.
A Maker's Mark and diet coke and a Yeungling costs $16.00 bucks at a swill shop across the street from the Stadium.
A one mile cab ride from the Stadium after the Yankees get their ass kicked by the Red Sox back to your medium security prison costs $30.00 bucks.
A Yankees Cheese Hero sandwhich with Beef at the Yankee Tavern is a big ass sandwhich that is essentially a side of beef, with onions and velveeta and it is bigger than your ass. The fries are not good and should be avoided. The ambiance is all looney Yankees fans so that is tasty but the food is more subpar than Joe Pepitone's batting average.
Contrary to popular belief, the Bronx is not all bunkers, barb wire and people shooting at each other. Mind you, we have seen our fair share of projects, empty swill bottles, trash, hoochies, hoodlums, alleged miscreants and whatnots and whathaveyes, but all the fans at the Stadium have been very nice. They all been exteremly nice to us when they discovered our hick origins. Funny thing was, when the warden - excuse me - proprietor of hotel saw us walking to the Stadium, he said, "Walk straight that way. Take a cab back." We followed his advice of course. But, in the stadium though, it wasn't a ton of cussing and screaming or really even a bunch of fools harassing the Red Sox fans. It was really a kinder gentler breed of Yankee Fan. Sure, there were people selling and wearing shirts that said "Bawston Sawks Cawk" and the back stated that someone swallowed but, other than that - and a shirt with a Red Sox with a penis for a nose - I saw no real aggession.
Well, that is the first update from the Woad. It's beer thirty and me pop's 60th birthday. We're doing Monument Park and buying souveniers and all that jazz today. Werd up.
....I'm just sayin....
A Maker's Mark and diet coke and a Yeungling costs $16.00 bucks at a swill shop across the street from the Stadium.
A one mile cab ride from the Stadium after the Yankees get their ass kicked by the Red Sox back to your medium security prison costs $30.00 bucks.
A Yankees Cheese Hero sandwhich with Beef at the Yankee Tavern is a big ass sandwhich that is essentially a side of beef, with onions and velveeta and it is bigger than your ass. The fries are not good and should be avoided. The ambiance is all looney Yankees fans so that is tasty but the food is more subpar than Joe Pepitone's batting average.
Contrary to popular belief, the Bronx is not all bunkers, barb wire and people shooting at each other. Mind you, we have seen our fair share of projects, empty swill bottles, trash, hoochies, hoodlums, alleged miscreants and whatnots and whathaveyes, but all the fans at the Stadium have been very nice. They all been exteremly nice to us when they discovered our hick origins. Funny thing was, when the warden - excuse me - proprietor of hotel saw us walking to the Stadium, he said, "Walk straight that way. Take a cab back." We followed his advice of course. But, in the stadium though, it wasn't a ton of cussing and screaming or really even a bunch of fools harassing the Red Sox fans. It was really a kinder gentler breed of Yankee Fan. Sure, there were people selling and wearing shirts that said "Bawston Sawks Cawk" and the back stated that someone swallowed but, other than that - and a shirt with a Red Sox with a penis for a nose - I saw no real aggession.
Well, that is the first update from the Woad. It's beer thirty and me pop's 60th birthday. We're doing Monument Park and buying souveniers and all that jazz today. Werd up.
....I'm just sayin....
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Stand, sit, kneel and I need more cow bell!
As you may have figgered if you've ever read anything I've ever written on this hear blog, I didn't growed up round no religion. Or, as my pops likes to say, I'm unchurched.
This fact was never more evident than the other day when I about lost my gourd during the funeral of one of yet another one of my uncle's named Joseph. You see my dad had nine brother's and one sister. 8 of the ten weenie-haver's were named in honor of He Who Got None. The lone "split tail" - as redneck's like to say - in the group was named Mary. My fucking dad's family should have had a show on Fox called When Catholicism Attacks.
I couldn't get up and tear out at any point during the mass at the church because I was in the first stink row and I was a paw bear or however you spell it. I took the honor of throwing my uncle in a hole seriously, but the rest of it I just don't fucking get. First of all, when we walked into the joint, the geezer who looked deader than Scorpion (my uncle's nickname), was walking in front of his box carrying a huge cross. I thought for a minute we were renacting a scene from Raiders of the Lost Arc. One of my cousin's son's was wearing what appeared to be a white potato sack with strategically cut holes for his head and arms in it with a rather stylish lime green rope belt that seems to be all the rage for young 10 year old Catholic boys. He's apparently an alter boy. Now, I could digress into a rant about the ramifications of what that may or may not mean but I saw no evidence that Father Pete O'phelia had been fooling around his rectory, if you know what I'm sayin. As for the guy that was apparently on the Masters Tour for Alter Boys, I have no clue what that was all about. He stood there the whole service and helped my second cousin fetch an astonishing array of religious paraphernalia. Huge ass bronze paddles, a silver plated thing with incence in it, some fancy ass bronze wine glasses, some big bowl things with some rather dainty crackers and stick that had a ball on the end that slung water. With all this shit, you could almost envision a priest standing on a street corner outside of Catholic churches asking people if they needed anything after mass and then opening their coats to give them a fix. That or opening their coats to show them wearing nuthing but a collar and a hard-on. See, I just can't get away from the sex scandal.
Anyway, back to the funeral. There was an actual choir singing in the upper deck behind the pews. That was kind of weird. They were belting out the appropriate tunes in response to what Father Chris preached. I've never been to a funeral with a live band. I mean no one yelled out "Freebird" or anything but it was strange. At the end, out of nowhere, unannounced, some guy belted out "Wind Beneath My Wings". I about cracked up. The guy's voice was cheezy to say the least. I kept thinking Bette Midler in drag had shown up at Cut's (yet another nickname) funeral and had decided to liven things up. I got over it once I realized one of my cousin's who I really admire asked that that song be sung in honor of his dad. Otherwise, the yuck factor was high.
I think Catholics invinted step aerobics. What the fuck is the deal with all the standing, sitting and knealing? I thought that extra little bar thing with the pad in front of the pew was a foot rest. Then everyone kept getting up and kneeling on it. Then sitting down. Then kneeling again. They should hand out programs to the unchurched like me before you go to one of these things. Hell, they should almost make you take a physical. There were some old bastards in the back that I didn't think were going to make it with all the chanting about hailing cabs, excuse me, Mary's and kneeling, and then praising the Eucharist tree or whatever it is. What's with all that chanting? I felt like a Moose at an Elk's Lodge meeting. I mean even my dad remembered some of the chants from the days when he use to get beat for not eating all his lunch and repeated some of them for old punches-to-the-nose-from-a-nun's-sake.
And then you got your priest. Father Chris was his name. He was from New York. Once again, you wonder, how did he end up in this tiny town in KY? He would start sentences like, "Were hear today because we're missing someone, but we'll get to that later." He was all about glossing over stuff. He had a northern accent and his tongue smacked his front teeth when he talked. While the choir was belting out songs, he sat in this big wooden chair and appeared to sleep. After the mass and service, several of my family members remarked how great he was because of how fast it all went. Body Mass came in at just under an hour and by all accounts that is miraculous. Praise jesus!
While the service was going on - I almost forgot - there was one point when Fr. Chris was reading from some black book. I can't remember its name. Uh, um...... oh yeah, I think its called the Bible. Anyway, he was reading from "The Bible" and when he read a certain passage, out of nowhere, unannounced, a fucking bell rang. I immediately looked up and wondered if a train was coming threw or someone had ordered Rice-a-Roni. I saw no train tracks and I did not see any waiter so I just thought my Topamax had misfired and I let it go. Everyone sat back down, kneeled again, stood, sat, knealed, sat, stood, sat, back to standing and we were knealing again. Some more chanting. They really should have beer tenders or soda jockeys at these things too. A fewl could make serious ducketts selling concessions during Catholic services. Call it Masscessions. Anyway, Fr. Chris went back to explaining that we were going to spend different amounts of time in purgatory - which led me to believe I need to open a liquor store there - and that's when I heard that goddamn bell again. But that time I saw my mathematical cousin ring it. He quickly put it up and bowed his head like a good altered little boy after doing so and like nothing had ever happened. I looked around to see if this freaked anyone else out and no one else seemed even startled by this event. I couldn't help but to think that I had been placed in the real life funeral version of the Christopher Walken SNL "I Need More Cowbell" Blue Oyster Cult Skit.
What in the holly hell does a fucking bell have to do with Jesus? I mean, unless he ever stood out in the cold in Jerusalem and collected $$$ for the Salvation Army (If he did, it truly would have been the Salvation Army.) I doubt he ever had anything to do with a bell. I'm not saying the Catholics have any of it wrong I just don't understand all the rituals and all the paraphernalia and gadgets they invovle in their beliefs. Either you believe in God or you don't. Cut out all the bullshit and just believe. I think this is why Catholics drink so much is because they're subjected to these long ass services and all that standing, sitting and knealing. The drinking is the one part of Catholicism I agree with.
On a lighter note, my uncle was a skinny dude and he was not hard to lift. We were joking that we could have cornholed him at the cemetary and, if we did with three tosses we should have gotten the funeral free. He was a good guy who loved his wife and children and he fought off emphesyma for years and was ready to give it up. As he went from the coronary care unit to the room where he died after he told them he just didn't want to feel any pain any more he gave my other uncle's a thumbs up and stuck his tongue out at his kids. He died like a man. That's the way to go out.
I also learned that the real name of my cousin Cut Bait is John Paul. Thank god. I could just see being on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and the final question being, "What is the real name of your first cousin Cut Bait" and not knowing it and not having any lifelines left. That would have sucked. For the record, he is the son of my dad's youngest brother - yes, the last Joseph - and he is less than 1/2 my age and his dad and my dad are not that close. I'm not as big of an asshole as I seem for not knowing that answer. I promise to give him some of my winnings because I now feel guilty.
...I'm just sayin.....
This fact was never more evident than the other day when I about lost my gourd during the funeral of one of yet another one of my uncle's named Joseph. You see my dad had nine brother's and one sister. 8 of the ten weenie-haver's were named in honor of He Who Got None. The lone "split tail" - as redneck's like to say - in the group was named Mary. My fucking dad's family should have had a show on Fox called When Catholicism Attacks.
I couldn't get up and tear out at any point during the mass at the church because I was in the first stink row and I was a paw bear or however you spell it. I took the honor of throwing my uncle in a hole seriously, but the rest of it I just don't fucking get. First of all, when we walked into the joint, the geezer who looked deader than Scorpion (my uncle's nickname), was walking in front of his box carrying a huge cross. I thought for a minute we were renacting a scene from Raiders of the Lost Arc. One of my cousin's son's was wearing what appeared to be a white potato sack with strategically cut holes for his head and arms in it with a rather stylish lime green rope belt that seems to be all the rage for young 10 year old Catholic boys. He's apparently an alter boy. Now, I could digress into a rant about the ramifications of what that may or may not mean but I saw no evidence that Father Pete O'phelia had been fooling around his rectory, if you know what I'm sayin. As for the guy that was apparently on the Masters Tour for Alter Boys, I have no clue what that was all about. He stood there the whole service and helped my second cousin fetch an astonishing array of religious paraphernalia. Huge ass bronze paddles, a silver plated thing with incence in it, some fancy ass bronze wine glasses, some big bowl things with some rather dainty crackers and stick that had a ball on the end that slung water. With all this shit, you could almost envision a priest standing on a street corner outside of Catholic churches asking people if they needed anything after mass and then opening their coats to give them a fix. That or opening their coats to show them wearing nuthing but a collar and a hard-on. See, I just can't get away from the sex scandal.
Anyway, back to the funeral. There was an actual choir singing in the upper deck behind the pews. That was kind of weird. They were belting out the appropriate tunes in response to what Father Chris preached. I've never been to a funeral with a live band. I mean no one yelled out "Freebird" or anything but it was strange. At the end, out of nowhere, unannounced, some guy belted out "Wind Beneath My Wings". I about cracked up. The guy's voice was cheezy to say the least. I kept thinking Bette Midler in drag had shown up at Cut's (yet another nickname) funeral and had decided to liven things up. I got over it once I realized one of my cousin's who I really admire asked that that song be sung in honor of his dad. Otherwise, the yuck factor was high.
I think Catholics invinted step aerobics. What the fuck is the deal with all the standing, sitting and knealing? I thought that extra little bar thing with the pad in front of the pew was a foot rest. Then everyone kept getting up and kneeling on it. Then sitting down. Then kneeling again. They should hand out programs to the unchurched like me before you go to one of these things. Hell, they should almost make you take a physical. There were some old bastards in the back that I didn't think were going to make it with all the chanting about hailing cabs, excuse me, Mary's and kneeling, and then praising the Eucharist tree or whatever it is. What's with all that chanting? I felt like a Moose at an Elk's Lodge meeting. I mean even my dad remembered some of the chants from the days when he use to get beat for not eating all his lunch and repeated some of them for old punches-to-the-nose-from-a-nun's-sake.
And then you got your priest. Father Chris was his name. He was from New York. Once again, you wonder, how did he end up in this tiny town in KY? He would start sentences like, "Were hear today because we're missing someone, but we'll get to that later." He was all about glossing over stuff. He had a northern accent and his tongue smacked his front teeth when he talked. While the choir was belting out songs, he sat in this big wooden chair and appeared to sleep. After the mass and service, several of my family members remarked how great he was because of how fast it all went. Body Mass came in at just under an hour and by all accounts that is miraculous. Praise jesus!
While the service was going on - I almost forgot - there was one point when Fr. Chris was reading from some black book. I can't remember its name. Uh, um...... oh yeah, I think its called the Bible. Anyway, he was reading from "The Bible" and when he read a certain passage, out of nowhere, unannounced, a fucking bell rang. I immediately looked up and wondered if a train was coming threw or someone had ordered Rice-a-Roni. I saw no train tracks and I did not see any waiter so I just thought my Topamax had misfired and I let it go. Everyone sat back down, kneeled again, stood, sat, knealed, sat, stood, sat, back to standing and we were knealing again. Some more chanting. They really should have beer tenders or soda jockeys at these things too. A fewl could make serious ducketts selling concessions during Catholic services. Call it Masscessions. Anyway, Fr. Chris went back to explaining that we were going to spend different amounts of time in purgatory - which led me to believe I need to open a liquor store there - and that's when I heard that goddamn bell again. But that time I saw my mathematical cousin ring it. He quickly put it up and bowed his head like a good altered little boy after doing so and like nothing had ever happened. I looked around to see if this freaked anyone else out and no one else seemed even startled by this event. I couldn't help but to think that I had been placed in the real life funeral version of the Christopher Walken SNL "I Need More Cowbell" Blue Oyster Cult Skit.
What in the holly hell does a fucking bell have to do with Jesus? I mean, unless he ever stood out in the cold in Jerusalem and collected $$$ for the Salvation Army (If he did, it truly would have been the Salvation Army.) I doubt he ever had anything to do with a bell. I'm not saying the Catholics have any of it wrong I just don't understand all the rituals and all the paraphernalia and gadgets they invovle in their beliefs. Either you believe in God or you don't. Cut out all the bullshit and just believe. I think this is why Catholics drink so much is because they're subjected to these long ass services and all that standing, sitting and knealing. The drinking is the one part of Catholicism I agree with.
On a lighter note, my uncle was a skinny dude and he was not hard to lift. We were joking that we could have cornholed him at the cemetary and, if we did with three tosses we should have gotten the funeral free. He was a good guy who loved his wife and children and he fought off emphesyma for years and was ready to give it up. As he went from the coronary care unit to the room where he died after he told them he just didn't want to feel any pain any more he gave my other uncle's a thumbs up and stuck his tongue out at his kids. He died like a man. That's the way to go out.
I also learned that the real name of my cousin Cut Bait is John Paul. Thank god. I could just see being on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and the final question being, "What is the real name of your first cousin Cut Bait" and not knowing it and not having any lifelines left. That would have sucked. For the record, he is the son of my dad's youngest brother - yes, the last Joseph - and he is less than 1/2 my age and his dad and my dad are not that close. I'm not as big of an asshole as I seem for not knowing that answer. I promise to give him some of my winnings because I now feel guilty.
...I'm just sayin.....
Saturday, August 16, 2008
I've been gone longer than a 10 inch hard on with Alzheimer's!
I've been busier than a beaver running a brothel lately. I must be horny because that's a helluva of a lot of sex references in the first two lines of my return to blogging. Maybe I should got blog myself before I continue writing to get over it and clear my mind since my wife is running errands. I wonder if I'm the first person ever to substitute the word blog for mastrubation? Can that be trademarked? And now to leave you wondering whether I followed through on that previous threat.......
Well childrens, a lot has happened since I last speculated on any local hypotenuses with you. Sure that stick-skinny mulatto is running for head honcho in charge (I chose those werds carefully) against that shorty stumpy angry former POW - incidentily every time I see that typed when talking about him I think I've been thrown into one of the 60's episodes of Batman. He should run ads "Golly gee willicurs, you've got to vote for McCain America. He's a veteran. POW!". - who wants to keep us in Iraq until the camels come home, but, on a local level all kinds of shiite has transgressed. Paducah Police Chief Randy Bratton quit after all his underlings gave him a vote of no confidence. Interestingly enough, all of them who had previously bitched that he had been too harsh voted they had no confidence in him because they said he had recently become too soft on people. Flacidity is another word I just thought up if it hadn't been already. Everyone straighten out your index finger and slowly bring it down. You get the point. After six or seven years His Hardness apparently went softer than the 80 year old at the pharmacy past closing begging for an advance on his Levitra script. I have no idear whether that is true or not, I just find it nuts that all those cats publicly stated they found him to be too soft. I would have just stuck with the whole he is a dick theory. I guess it doesn't matter in the end because apparently the City Commission was going to actually ball-up and fire His Hardness otherwise he would not have resigned without having antoher job already in place. How do you know he didn't have another job already in place and was going to be fired? Like all other City/County good ole boy shady "resignations" that should really be firings in this town he got a severance package. His Hardness got something like 6 months pay for bolting. I think the terms were something along the lines of 1. Do no work. 2. Leave Paducah. 3. Answer the phone if we call to ask you if you've left Paducah. 4. If someone ask you if you're a "consultant" to the Paducah Police Department or the City Commission, say "yes". Then, even though he was usurped by his own men and the only fewls in the whole mix that liked him were Turkey Neck Paxton and Zumwalt, they gave His Hardness a going away gala at City Hall! My sources have not told me what the attendance was like but I'm sure it was sparse.
As for finding his heir apparent, what did the City Commission do? Yep, you guessed it! They hired someone to help them hire someone! Nothing says competence like admitting you have no idea who is qualified to run your City's Police Department! They immediatly decided that the guys that told them His Hardness was no longer the man and should be told to hit the road were not good enough. Seems strange since those guys apparently had enough sway to push the City Commission to put the screws to His Hardnes. See Above. I have no clue why our City Commission always has this fucking desire to be metrosexual and hire someone to tell them what to do or go outside of our local ranks to find someone to do something when we may have people write here that can do the job. I find it hard to believe that Danny Carroll couldn't run the Paducah Police Dept. but they didn't even give him a chance. They immediately decided to look elsewhere. Then, when looking for an "interim chief" Turkey Neck wanted to hire someone other than who the rest of the Commission wanted to hire - former Asst. Chief Sandy Joselyn - and when she got the job he told her he wanted someone else. What the fuck is that? Why say that shit? She got the job and he's slighting her to her face because his candidate didn't get it. Seems the guys I know at the PD are cool with her as interim chief. Turkey Neck is a nut. That was just straight up classlessness.
Brian Furgeuson was burglarizin more houses than Santa Claus except he was takin shit except leaving presents. He kept getting away and a manhunt was on for like three days. He was breakin news like crazy. The funniest part of the story is, when he was eventually caught, he was in......GRAVES COUNTY! No, weight, that wasn't the punch line. Oh, I forgot. The most amazing part of the story was, when he was caught in Graves County - that much was true - he was caught in the back of local Amish scofflaw Jacob Geingrich's buggy going at a very low rate of speed without a fucking triangle warning symbol! Ole JG apparently was playing an Amish non-showering fruitcake barn-building version of Al Cowlings to Furguson's non-murdering yet still very dangerous honkey fugitive O.J. JG - as I've taken to calling him - is one of the members of that miltant (I just call it that) Amish sect (I added that too) in Graves County that refuse to display the flourescent triangle on their buggies because it is a wordly symbol and it violates their beliefs. In the Republican Sun Also Rises, he said his version of OJ came out of a field and was dirty and asked for a ride. He was riding down the rode, looked down at his copy of the paper, saw his picture and realized he had Ferguson in the back. He then motioned to police he was in the back and Ferguson gave up. What I'm wondering is, why were the police so close to JG? I've got this visual of the police like driving really slow behind JG's buggy following him as if they were just waiting to pull him over for the no triangle display thing and they lucked into this. I guess they were looking for Ferguson in the neighborhood. What I also don't get is how a newspaper couldn't also be considered "too wordly" if a triangle symbol on your buggy would be? I mean hell, the Republican Sun Also Rises exposes you to crazy shit like all those chiropractor adds talking about "spine-med therapy", those infertility ads with the osterich with the head in the sand and their editorial page. That's nuttier than an Amish fruitcake. The stuff in the paper could send an good ole Amish Boy like JG astray. I'm worried about him. Constantly breaking the law. Always in court. Hanging out with riff raff like Brian Ferguson. Someone needs to talk to him. He needs an Amish intervention.
Finally, did you seen Ferguson's picture in the paper this week when they ran a story about the additional charges he's now facing in McCracken County? I mean, he ain't a bad looking guy, but I swear whoever the jailer was who took that picture let him pose. He was turned slightly sideways, his head was cocked to the left, he had gel in his hair, a white shirt on and he had this half smirk on his face. The picture was also taken farther away then a normal mug shot, he was slightly bent over, but you could still see the markers showing how tall he was in the background. It looked like a memeber of a boyband got arrested. It was looked like the cover of an album called "N'SYNC 5 TO 10". If you can get on goole and or the Republican Sun Also Rises and look it up, I highly recommend it. It's a great picture. It is from this past week. Great stuff.
Well, the wife is hear and I've got to unload groceries. I'll get back at ye later hopefully to keep at this. Werd.
...I'm just sayin....
Well childrens, a lot has happened since I last speculated on any local hypotenuses with you. Sure that stick-skinny mulatto is running for head honcho in charge (I chose those werds carefully) against that shorty stumpy angry former POW - incidentily every time I see that typed when talking about him I think I've been thrown into one of the 60's episodes of Batman. He should run ads "Golly gee willicurs, you've got to vote for McCain America. He's a veteran. POW!". - who wants to keep us in Iraq until the camels come home, but, on a local level all kinds of shiite has transgressed. Paducah Police Chief Randy Bratton quit after all his underlings gave him a vote of no confidence. Interestingly enough, all of them who had previously bitched that he had been too harsh voted they had no confidence in him because they said he had recently become too soft on people. Flacidity is another word I just thought up if it hadn't been already. Everyone straighten out your index finger and slowly bring it down. You get the point. After six or seven years His Hardness apparently went softer than the 80 year old at the pharmacy past closing begging for an advance on his Levitra script. I have no idear whether that is true or not, I just find it nuts that all those cats publicly stated they found him to be too soft. I would have just stuck with the whole he is a dick theory. I guess it doesn't matter in the end because apparently the City Commission was going to actually ball-up and fire His Hardness otherwise he would not have resigned without having antoher job already in place. How do you know he didn't have another job already in place and was going to be fired? Like all other City/County good ole boy shady "resignations" that should really be firings in this town he got a severance package. His Hardness got something like 6 months pay for bolting. I think the terms were something along the lines of 1. Do no work. 2. Leave Paducah. 3. Answer the phone if we call to ask you if you've left Paducah. 4. If someone ask you if you're a "consultant" to the Paducah Police Department or the City Commission, say "yes". Then, even though he was usurped by his own men and the only fewls in the whole mix that liked him were Turkey Neck Paxton and Zumwalt, they gave His Hardness a going away gala at City Hall! My sources have not told me what the attendance was like but I'm sure it was sparse.
As for finding his heir apparent, what did the City Commission do? Yep, you guessed it! They hired someone to help them hire someone! Nothing says competence like admitting you have no idea who is qualified to run your City's Police Department! They immediatly decided that the guys that told them His Hardness was no longer the man and should be told to hit the road were not good enough. Seems strange since those guys apparently had enough sway to push the City Commission to put the screws to His Hardnes. See Above. I have no clue why our City Commission always has this fucking desire to be metrosexual and hire someone to tell them what to do or go outside of our local ranks to find someone to do something when we may have people write here that can do the job. I find it hard to believe that Danny Carroll couldn't run the Paducah Police Dept. but they didn't even give him a chance. They immediately decided to look elsewhere. Then, when looking for an "interim chief" Turkey Neck wanted to hire someone other than who the rest of the Commission wanted to hire - former Asst. Chief Sandy Joselyn - and when she got the job he told her he wanted someone else. What the fuck is that? Why say that shit? She got the job and he's slighting her to her face because his candidate didn't get it. Seems the guys I know at the PD are cool with her as interim chief. Turkey Neck is a nut. That was just straight up classlessness.
Brian Furgeuson was burglarizin more houses than Santa Claus except he was takin shit except leaving presents. He kept getting away and a manhunt was on for like three days. He was breakin news like crazy. The funniest part of the story is, when he was eventually caught, he was in......GRAVES COUNTY! No, weight, that wasn't the punch line. Oh, I forgot. The most amazing part of the story was, when he was caught in Graves County - that much was true - he was caught in the back of local Amish scofflaw Jacob Geingrich's buggy going at a very low rate of speed without a fucking triangle warning symbol! Ole JG apparently was playing an Amish non-showering fruitcake barn-building version of Al Cowlings to Furguson's non-murdering yet still very dangerous honkey fugitive O.J. JG - as I've taken to calling him - is one of the members of that miltant (I just call it that) Amish sect (I added that too) in Graves County that refuse to display the flourescent triangle on their buggies because it is a wordly symbol and it violates their beliefs. In the Republican Sun Also Rises, he said his version of OJ came out of a field and was dirty and asked for a ride. He was riding down the rode, looked down at his copy of the paper, saw his picture and realized he had Ferguson in the back. He then motioned to police he was in the back and Ferguson gave up. What I'm wondering is, why were the police so close to JG? I've got this visual of the police like driving really slow behind JG's buggy following him as if they were just waiting to pull him over for the no triangle display thing and they lucked into this. I guess they were looking for Ferguson in the neighborhood. What I also don't get is how a newspaper couldn't also be considered "too wordly" if a triangle symbol on your buggy would be? I mean hell, the Republican Sun Also Rises exposes you to crazy shit like all those chiropractor adds talking about "spine-med therapy", those infertility ads with the osterich with the head in the sand and their editorial page. That's nuttier than an Amish fruitcake. The stuff in the paper could send an good ole Amish Boy like JG astray. I'm worried about him. Constantly breaking the law. Always in court. Hanging out with riff raff like Brian Ferguson. Someone needs to talk to him. He needs an Amish intervention.
Finally, did you seen Ferguson's picture in the paper this week when they ran a story about the additional charges he's now facing in McCracken County? I mean, he ain't a bad looking guy, but I swear whoever the jailer was who took that picture let him pose. He was turned slightly sideways, his head was cocked to the left, he had gel in his hair, a white shirt on and he had this half smirk on his face. The picture was also taken farther away then a normal mug shot, he was slightly bent over, but you could still see the markers showing how tall he was in the background. It looked like a memeber of a boyband got arrested. It was looked like the cover of an album called "N'SYNC 5 TO 10". If you can get on goole and or the Republican Sun Also Rises and look it up, I highly recommend it. It's a great picture. It is from this past week. Great stuff.
Well, the wife is hear and I've got to unload groceries. I'll get back at ye later hopefully to keep at this. Werd.
...I'm just sayin....
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